Murder for Choir (22 page)

I debated telling Devlyn about the woman and her binoculars, and decided against it. Being responsible for apoplexy was probably a good way to lose a friend. “I pretended I was here to visit him. I rang the doorbell and left a sticky note on his door.” I wasn’t a complete amateur, right? “I didn’t take a good look at the pitch pipe until now.”

Devlyn took the pitch pipe from me, looking more interested in strangling me for my foray into breaking and entering than in the object itself. Until he spotted the inscription. He sucked in air, and his eyes met mine. “This belonged to Greg Lucas?”

I nodded.

“How did it end up in Larry’s car?”

Good question. One I really wanted an answer to. “My
guess is that whoever killed Greg planted the pitch pipe in between Larry’s car seats. Then the killer called the cops with an anonymous tip to make sure Larry got fingered for the crime.” I waited for Devlyn to be impressed.

Nope. He was back to looking angry. “You stole evidence. You could be arrested for that.”

“Technically, I didn’t know it was evidence when I put it in my pocket.” I was hoping that counted for something.

“You should have turned it over to the cops when they were here.” Devlyn looked a little too close to being pushed over the edge.

“Look,” I said, trying to sound calm and rational. “I promise I’ll turn the pitch pipe over to the cops, but I don’t want Larry to take the rap for a murder unless he actually committed it.”

The tension in Devlyn’s shoulders eased. He blew a lock of dark hair off his forehead and asked, “How do you plan on proving he did or didn’t do it?”

I smiled. “We’re in Larry’s house with his permission. It couldn’t hurt to take a look around while we’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What are we looking for?”

Not a clue. “I guess we’ll know it when we see it.”

We split up so we could cover more ground. Devlyn took the clean, albeit out-of-date kitchen. Probably a good choice. Devlyn looked like he could use another drink. I headed down the hall to Larry’s bedroom.

Holy cow. The room looked like the closet threw up. Clothes were strewn across the floor, on top of the hamper, and over the unmade bed. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought Larry had emptied out the closet in search of the perfect date outfit. An important piece of evidence could be lurking inside this room and no one would ever find it.
At least, not the way it looked now. The only way to search was to clean. Lucky me. Picking up my boss’s underwear was definitely not on my top ten list of how to spend a Friday night.

I spotted a large black plastic laundry basket under a pile of shirts at the foot of the bed. Grabbing it, I began sorting clothes. While doing my boss’s laundry was above and beyond the call of duty, it gave me a great excuse to rifle through his pockets. Larry would thank me for keeping stray cash and lip balm from being decimated by the dryer. And who knows, maybe he’d even give me a raise when I explained that I cleaned up so he could have a comfortable space to recover in.

The blacks and colors went into the basket. The whites, which were mostly undershirts and tighty whities, were kicked into a pile near the closet. The only clues in that pile were to questions I didn’t want answered.

By the time I was done, I had seven dollars and twenty-six cents, three paper clips, and two packages of dental floss. Enough to make an arts-and-crafts project and get a cup or two of Starbucks coffee. Not enough to solve the case.

I found the washing machine in the utility room next to the kitchen and squashed in as much as I could. A scoop of detergent and a spin of the dial and I was headed back into Larry’s much tidier bedroom.

The bed was a mess, so I tucked in the sheets and smoothed the comforter. I didn’t really expect to find anything of interest in it, but I figured if Larry ever got up off the floor, he’d appreciate a freshly made bed to sleep in.

Standing next to the bed, I took stock of the room. There was a nightstand with a lamp and an alarm clock sitting on the top. A large dresser stood against the wall behind me, and a television with DVD player was mounted on the wall. I wasn’t
the type to keep things stashed in my dresser, so I started with the nightstand drawer. Stephen King books. A bag of cough drops. A couple of notepads with music scribbled on them and…Ick. Judging by the size of the box of condoms, Larry was looking to get really lucky.

Now that I knew Larry used protection, I headed over to the dresser. Just because I didn’t use my sock drawer as a safe-deposit box didn’t mean other people had the same prejudice. The first drawer had T-shirts and underwear. The second had socks. Lots of socks organized by size and color. If Larry had time to organize his socks into perfect rows, he probably didn’t go on enough dates to warrant the box of condoms in his nightstand. Poor guy.

I was about to close the drawer when a bump in a sock near the back of the drawer caught my attention. Aha. Stuffed inside a black sock was a cassette tape. Putting the tape in my pocket, I sat the sock on top of the dresser. As soon as I found a cassette player and listened to the tape, I’d put it back where I found it.

The next two drawers turned up nothing exciting, so I bopped back down the hall, poking my head into each room and looking for a radio with a cassette player. I found one on the bathroom counter above the rug on which Larry was currently drooling. Reaching over Larry, I snagged the player, bolted down the hall, and ran into the kitchen. Devlyn glanced up from his seat at the farm-style wooden table. Several stacks of papers were spread out in front of him.

“I think I found something.” Triumphant, I placed the radio on an empty spot on the table, slid the tape in, and hit play.

There was a pop and a crackle and a bunch of murmuring voices before four-part a cappella music filled the kitchen. The male voices were strong and talented, and the
song was catchy. I couldn’t come up with the name of the tune, but I’d heard it before. It had a jungle beat and lyrics involving stars and skies. Last week, when researching music for my choir, I’d clicked on a lot of websites for show choirs across the country. At least half of them had this song on their “best of” highlights videos. Why would Larry have a tape of the song hidden in his sock drawer?

“I know that song. ‘Stars Above.’ North Shore’s choir performed it last year,” Devlyn said.

“Larry had the tape hidden in his sock drawer.” I hit stop and popped the tape out of the radio. The cassette looked old, and the label on it looked faded. “I’m guessing that the singers on this are Larry, Greg, our friend Jim, and whoever the fourth guy was.”

Devlyn gave a low whistle. “Every show choir in the country has performed that song. It’s a classic. If that’s the song Greg stole from Larry, he’s made a fortune off it. From the bank statements and bills I’ve found, Larry is hurting for cash.”

In any cop’s book, Larry would have a fabulous motive for murder. Call me crazy, but to me Larry was looking more innocent by the second. Between the pitch pipe, the anonymous phone call, and years of Larry’s willingness to be cheated without fighting back, my instincts said someone else was responsible.

Devlyn didn’t feel the same way. He stood up and took the tape from my hand. “We need to turn this over to the police.”

I took the tape back. “We will, but first we talk to Larry. He deserves a chance to tell us his side of the story before we sic the cops on him.” Devlyn didn’t look convinced, so I added, “The guy is passed out cold on the bathroom floor. The least we can do is let him sleep off the booze and take a
shower before sending him off to the clink. We can meet back here in the morning after Larry’s had a chance to change clothes. We’ll talk to him. If we don’t like what he says, we call the cops. Deal?”

“Deal. Just so you know, I hate getting up early on Sunday mornings. You’re buying the coffee.”

Devlyn put the bills back where he found them while I moved laundry from the washer to the dryer and stashed the tape back in its sock. We then stood in the bathroom doorway watching Larry breathe. Devlyn wanted to leave him on the floor. I wanted the guy in a good mood tomorrow when we arrived. Eight to ten hours lying on tile would make me cranky, so we each took an arm and half carried, half dragged Larry to his bed. We left the side door unlocked in case we got back before Larry had finished sleeping off his drunken stupor. Then we headed for Devlyn’s car.

It was midnight when Devlyn pulled back into Millie’s driveway. We decided to meet back at Larry’s at seven, and Devlyn insisted on walking me to the door. After last night’s front-stoop adventure, I was happy to have the company. I slid my key in the lock and turned back to say good night as Devlyn’s mouth latched onto mine.

I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I know how to kiss. My first kiss was back in eighth grade when I got caught under the mistletoe with Jack McGregor. His nose bumped mine twice as he tried to find my mouth, and all I remember thinking was how slimy his lips were as I did my best to kiss him back. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had to kiss him back. Everyone was watching.

Well, no one was watching this kiss, but I still didn’t know what to do. Devlyn’s lips were warm and firm, no Jack McGregor slime. In fact, his lips were fabulous. But I couldn’t enjoy the moment. All I could do was stand there
with my eyes wide open, trying to decide if I’d stepped into the
Twilight Zone
. After a few seconds, Devlyn stepped back. I blinked up at him. He gave me a teasing smile and said, “Oops. I meant to do this.” He leaned back down and kissed me on the nose. “See you in the morning.” The man was down the driveway and climbing into his car before I could form a coherent sentence.

What the hell was that?

Dazed, I went inside, locked the door behind me, and headed up to my room. This wasn’t the first time a gay man had kissed me. Far from it. Every time I went to an audition I got pecks on the lips from the men I knew, both gay and straight. But a kiss on the doorstep after going on what could be loosely considered a date was unchartered territory. I was pretty sure Devlyn was teasing me. He had to be. Right?

By the time I went to the bathroom to change into my pajamas and brush my teeth, I’d decided Devlyn had been yanking my chain. Still, after he and I had a chat with Larry, the two of us were going to have a long talk. Just in case.

Feeling less confused, I walked into my room and sighed. Sitting in the middle of the bed was Killer. The pink bandage had slipped and was now covering his left eye, making him look decidedly rakish. He took one look at me, rolled over, and stuck his feet up in the air. I didn’t have the energy or the heart to toss him out, so I nudged Killer to the left side of the bed, pushed back the covers, and turned off the light.

When I staggered out of bed the next morning, Millie and Killer were downstairs in the kitchen. Between the kiss, the pitch pipe, and the bed-hogging dog, I hadn’t gotten much rest. If I didn’t get my beauty sleep soon, I was going to need a facelift.

“Good morning, dear. I didn’t expect you up so early.
Did your date go well?” Millie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Devlyn is just a friend,” I reminded her as I poured a large cup of coffee in hopes of bolstering my energy.

“The best marriages start off with friendship,” Millie said with a wink. “Don’t forget the benefit tonight. We have to be at the Ockinickys at seven. Devlyn is welcome to join us.” She finished her coffee, patted Killer on the head, and disappeared out the door.

Damn. I’d forgotten about the benefit. The Ockinickys were raising money for a local children’s after-school choir and art program. Aunt Millie had promised her friends I’d sing a couple of songs to help inspire guests to give money to the cause. She thought the appearance might lead to a break in my career. I figured it meant I’d just go hungry for the night. No one ever remembered to save hors d’oeuvres for the entertainment.

The thought of food made my stomach protest. I walked over to the fridge and reached for the handle as a low growl came from behind me. Killer’s nails clipped along the floor, and the growl got louder as he took a seat next to the fridge. The bandage on his head had come off. He was now sporting a buzz cut and zigzagged stitching on the top of his head.

I pulled the handle on the fridge, and Frankenpoodle growled louder and snapped. Instinctively, I took a step back. Then I got mad.

“Look,” I yelled. “You got to sleep in my bed, which means I get to eat breakfast. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”

I reached for the door handle again, and Killer barked twice and bared his teeth. Clearly, fair wasn’t in his vocabulary. I gave him what I hoped was a withering look. “Fine.
Just remember this tonight.” Turning on my heel, I stomped out the door.

Thank goodness there was a Dunkin’ Donuts on the way to Larry’s house. I got a large latte for me, two large regular coffees for the boys, and two dozen assorted doughnuts. If after talking to Larry, we needed to call the cops, the doughnuts wouldn’t go to waste.

Devlyn hadn’t yet arrived as I steered my Cobalt into Larry’s driveway and parked behind his silver car. If he wanted to make a quick getaway, he’d have to do it on foot. Balancing the tray of coffee and the doughnut boxes, I headed for the unlocked side door and let myself into the house. The place was quiet. No shower or radio sounds. Larry must still be asleep.

I walked into the living room and went flying. My left foot stepped on something, I lost my balance, and my body bashed into the wall. The doughnut boxes fell to the floor, but thank God the coffee tray remained upright in my hand.

Holy crap. No wonder I tripped. The place was a mess.

Video games, CDs, and video controllers were strewn across the floor along with the futon mattress. The piano bench was upside down, and sheets of music were spread across the carpet like confetti. I put the coffee tray on top of the piano and raced into the kitchen. More destruction. Drawers were emptied. Chairs were upended. Even the garbage had been knocked over. Either Larry couldn’t find the aspirin or someone had tossed his house.